


serpentine wings

by stephenssupreme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:57:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephenssupreme/pseuds/stephenssupreme
Summary: Aziraphale works in Heaven's Above tattoo parlor and a new client of his catches his eye





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale, known professionally as 'A.Z', was a charming fellow - someone almost everyone in Soho knew on a personal level simply because he made himself known like that. He didn't boast, he didn't gloat about his work, instead he let his art speak for itself. That way he could use his own words for something much more appreciated - common fucking decency.

Gabriel always said A.Z had too much of that and should learn to put on a front, especially given their occupation. There were five of them working at _Heaven's Above_ though everyone knew Gabriel was the boss around the place despite them not actually giving out official titles like that. They were, supposedly, equal partners. Being a little grumpy from time to time gave a façade of righteousness that Gabriel and the others covered themselves in. They were covered in a lot, actually - tattoos being one of the main things. Everyone but Aziraphale, though… His skin was bare and untouched, all but a small piercing hole in his left ear lobe which he never put anything in. It was an odd look for a tattooist and often lead to preliminary distrust between him and the client, though that almost always changed once they saw his work. It was on display all over the shop - the walls and on the other co-workers themselves. Pieces of art fit for a royal gallery, some would say.

Aziraphale did not only act 'kind' he also looked the part. His soft and fluffy white hair wasn't exactly styled, though it had a natural beauty to it that only a man such as him could pull off. He wore ironed shirts every day, accessorised with a bow tie and suspenders - he owned a variety of colours but tartan always seemed to be his favourite. Sleeves rolled up on his shirt of course, safety being paramount in a job like his. Gloves came and went but his ring never came off: a gold set of wings clinging around his pinky finger. No one knows when or where he got it and unbelievably, no one had ever asked him.

\---

It was a warm Saturday morning and they'd already had a few cancellations - clients deciding a day in the sun was more tempting than sitting in a sweaty leather chair for hours.

"You've still got someone booked in for 10 o'clock, A.Z," hummed Uriel as they walked past to flop down on the sofa, texting away on their phone as they did so.

"Ah, splendid. Just me? No one else has anyone in?" His question was answered with a series of grunts and groans, San being the only one to actually say the word 'no'. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel a little guilty for some reason, not wanting to be the only one with a job. 

"Tell you what, I'll go and get us coffees before the guy comes in, my treat." He nodded to himself, standing up from his desk to get everyone's orders. 

Gabriel: lemongrass and ginger tea.

Michael: double espresso.

Uriel: chai latte.

San: wet cappuccino.

And for himself, Aziraphale was planning on one of those caramel frappuccino things… Treat yourself, right? Extra cream of course, especially since he was paying.

The coffee shop was only around the corner but he was met with quite a queue. He should have thought this idea through, he didn't want to be late for his only client. Standing behind a taller man, Aziraphale glanced down at his watch: he had fifteen minutes. Cutting it rather thin, honestly.

"In a rush?" Asked the man in front who had happened to look behind him just as the artist had checked the time.

"Oh! Ha, no… Not really. Well, perhaps. Nothing too urgent though." He shrugged with a smile, dropping his wrist back down as he looked at the man. He had shoulder length red hair with some of it tied behind in a small bun and weirdly enough, wore sunglasses inside.

"Same here," replied the stranger, a smirk playing at his thin lips. "No rush but also…  _ In a rush _ ." He winked carelessly before turning back to face the queue as people moved forward.

Oh… Oh, Aziraphale hadn't had someone wink at him in quite some time and it was safe to say he was a little flustered. So flustered, in fact, that when he also stepped forward, he stepped a little too far and accidentally scuffed the back of the man's boot.

"Sorry-!"

The redhead whipped his head around, this time in the other direction, revealing a small tattoo of a snake just by his ear. 

"Hm?"

"I just stepped on your shoe, I was just apologising…" Aziraphale backed up a little, unable to take his eyes off the tattoo he just saw.

"Can't say I noticed, angel."

At that, the blond man raised an eyebrow.

"Your uh, your ring." He cleared his throat, his words rather mumbled.

"Oh! This old thing?" Lifting his hand, Aziraphale let his gold ring glint in the light for a moment. How come this man noticed the ring and yet not him kicking him? Odd. "Surprised you saw it….  _ Snake _ ." No. No, that did not sound as smooth as him in any sense of the word. It sounded like an insult.

"Ha! Snake?" He tapped a delicate finger against his tattoo, his fingernails painted a matte black; "not really inventive but I admire the courage… You can call me Crowley." Thankfully, Crowley had taken the weird nickname in jest and it let Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief.

"And then I'm Aziraphale to you." In all honesty, Aziraphale hated the brand name A.Z, it was Gabriel's idea in order to give the man more of an edge and also to make it easier when writing his name in the books or on their website.

The pair shared a brief smile before the queue moved forward once more, Crowley now next in line, though still turned around so he could look at Aziraphale. Their fashion clashed quite a bit - Crowley dressed in almost all black, a silver chain around his neck being one of the only pops of colour if you could even call it that. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was dressed in light colours that complimented him quite nicely.

"Hey, maybe we-" 

"Next please!"

"Ooh, I think she's calling you, Crowley."

"Yes. She can wait just one-"

" _ Next _ !"

"Fucking  _ hell _ !" Hissed Crowley under his breath as he turned back towards the baristas, storming over, annoyed that he didn't get more of a chance to talk to the other man. Once he had ordered, he glanced back over but the blond was no longer there, instead he was up ordering at the second cashier, a bright smile on his face as he ordered what looked like an awful lot of drinks. Perhaps inviting him to sit and chat wasn't a great idea anyway. Besides, Crowley had somewhere to be at 10 anyway.

A few minutes later, everything was made and Aziraphale was somehow managing to hold five drinks all at once, on his way out when he realised… There's a door. And he only had two hands.

"Need some help, angel?" Spoke a familiar voice, Crowley appearing behind him. What? He couldn't help but try and stay to shoot his shot.

Blushing furiously, Aziraphale faintly nodded and stepped back a little so Crowley could grab the door with his free hand. He let him walk first and quickly followed after.

"What way are you heading?" Asked the leaner of the two, pushing up his glasses out of habit as he talked.

"Just round this way," Aziraphale answered, tilting his head back to point out his direction with his chin.

"Funny. So am I. Fate, right?" Crowley shrugged as they both started to walk, his stride much more chaotic compared to the annoyingly perfectly spaced steps the other man took. "Want me to carry any of those for you?" He tried his best to be kind when he could, though only with people he liked, really.

"Must be fate. And no, I'll be fine, thank you." Grateful for the offer though, Aziraphale did not stop his conversation there; "I must say, I don't think I've seen you around here before." 

"Nah, just moved here. Used to live in Hell," replied Crowley in a nonchalant tone. Aziraphale simply raised a brow. "Slough."

"Oh yes, I see what you meant by  _ hell _ ," the blond said with a laugh, looking to his right to see his shop, the door propped open due to the usually humid temperatures at that time. "Ah… This is me." He lingered for a moment, not wanted to leave just yet. What if he never got to see the man again? What if there was no means of contact? Aziraphale found himself  _ wanting _ those means and frankly he had never felt this passionate about it before. Just as he was about to ask though, Crowley himself spoke up…

"Uh. Same, actually. Wait, are you serious?" He didn't take Aziraphale to be someone who had tattoos quite frankly.

"Mhm, I work here. Why are yo--" Oh. Oh, only then did it click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley at the end: and i oop--


	2. Chapter 2

It was, safe to say, pretty awkward as they both walked in, Aziraphale walking ahead so he could put the drinks down on a desk.

"Ah, this must be _Anthony_ ," pointed out Gabriel as he walked around the corner, heading straight over to grab his tea, nodding a small 'thank you' to Aziraphale.

Crowley only grunted at that, rolling his eyes; "of course she booked it under that name… Do us a favour and change it to 'Crowley'." Gabriel seemed reluctant at first but a reassuring smile from Aziraphale won him over and he went over to the books to change it.

"You've already met A.Z, apparently."

"Huh… _You're_ A.Z?" Crowley tilted his head, looking over at his new acquaintance. He had obviously checked out the man's online portfolio before hand and the name A.Z was what he knew the artist by but he had never seen his face before.

"Just like _you're_ Anthony." In other words, Azriaphale wanted to be called the name he had given Crowley earlier that day. The pair shared a short lived laugh, a joke that Gabriel was slightly offended he wasn't part of. Bitter, the tall, bluck of a man rolled his eyes and returned out to the back where the others were, taking all their drinks with them.

Leading Crowley into his own studio room, Aziraphale sat down with him as they started to discuss ideas and designs, one part already certain though - it had to be a snake.

"I was thinking my arm… Though, I see too many people with snakes wrapped around their forearm." Pulling his sleeve up, Crowley twisted his arm around as he considered it.

"I could get creative with that though? The tail wrapped around just above your elbow, coming around your forearm with the head at the wrist? Just a thought…" 

"Keeping it black, yes?"

"Of course, if that's what you want." Aziraphale turned to his side, sketching out a few ideas, half listening to Crowley's mindless mumbling. He had drawn up a few options for the head - some with open mouths, some just a side on view, some with a birds eye view.

"Ooh, that one!" The redhead leant over to point at the birds eye view sketch, his body looming ever so close to Aziraphale as he did so. It made it the blond's heart race - he normally wouldn't react like this, professionalism at all times. The problem was, when they first started talking, there was nothing professional about it, he called him 'angel' for god sake!

"Mm, yes… Good choice." Aziraphale shifted in his seat, lifting a hand to gently push Crowley away a bit. "If you sit down just there, I'll put a stencil on your skin and see how that looks." 

Slowly, Crowley backed away, taking off his jacket off so his arm was available. Part of the design, mainly the head, was transferred with a stencil, though Aziraphale did a lot of it freehand - blue ink creating the serpent that climbed the man's arm. The artist didn't say a word as he worked, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his lips, concentration ruling over his features.

"I suppose I'm not allowed to say how cute you look, looking like that?" Muttered Crowley, not taking his eyes off the other man, though Aziraphale wouldn't have known this because he still had his sunglasses on.

"No. You're not." 

"Fair enough. I'll just think about it to myself then." God, he was so smug. He even had that stupid little smirk on his face. All Aziraphale could do was roll his eyes, continuing on with the design until he was finally happy with what was there.

"Right… Ten minute break then we start with the needle?" Slapping his hands down onto his thighs, Aziraphale stood up, reaching for his coffee to finally have a drink. "You're welcome to sit on the sofas out front or go outside, by the way." With a kind smile, he then headed out, going out to one of the other back rooms to see the other artists, all of whom were sat watching… Badminton? No! Tennis. That was definitely tennis.

Gabriel raised his head as he walked in, grinning stupidly, asking: "how's _Anthony,_ going?"

"It's _Crowley_ and he's doing fine. A little…"

"Flirty?" Suggested Uriel, hidden behind a laugh.

"No! Why would you suggest such a thing-"

"I walked past earlier and heard him calling you cute. You sounded like such a killjoy," explained Michael who was half stood out the backdoor, pausing to take a drag of her cigarette before she spoke in a mocking tone; " _no. You're not._ Ha!" She threw her head as she let out a laugh. "I sometimes think you're destined to stay alone."

"Hm. I see." Azriaphale tried not to make a look of disgust as he walked back out, though he was caught off guard by Crowley who was sat comfortably on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other as he looked right at him.

"Look, Aziraphale… If I've been too much I can ask one of the other guys to do this." He waved his blue inked arm around. "If I had known at the cafe who you were, I wouldn't have-"

"No. You're coming with me." Something came over the man he called 'angel', something which made him lose part of his professionalism. He didn't even wait to see if the man would follow him, instead he headed back into the studio and started to put his gloves on, smiling privately to himself as he heard a pair of footsteps following him. "You know…" He turned around, looking Crowley up and down as he got back in the chair: "you're quite handsome yourself." He was tempted to say 'cute' but somehow he was scared Crowley wouldn't react to that well.

"Hold up, _you're_ allowed to compliment me but I can't compliment you?"

Aziraphale grabbed a sealed packet from the side, ripping it open to pull out a sanitised needle, pointing it menacingly at the other man. "I'm the one with the power here. That's why." No longer would he be called a killjoy by Michael or anyone else for that matter.

"Oh…" A little taken back by that, Crowley could only smile to himself, relaxing as much as he could without looking weird. It was an odd change in dynamic but one that they both found themselves embracing quite quickly.

Aziraphale looked as smug as ever as he set up his equipment, sparing small glances over to the man. He'd never been like this with a client before and as wrong as he felt it was, the _temptation_ was overwhelming. 

He started with the head, holding Crowley's hand in place as he began to tattoo along the lines. That was the 'problem' with this job, he had to have his hands all over people but Crowley, for instance, didn't seem to mind all that much. He even tried his luck at stroking circles with his thumb against Aziraphale's hand, gazing softly through his dark glasses.

"Stop moving… Your veins, they shift every time you move that thumb of yours." Crowley noted that Aziraphale never said he didn't like it.

"Of course. My bad. Continue, angel…"

"Never took you for a hand-holder."

"Hmph. My hands get cold, it's a nice change, that's all." Yes. That was a good excuse, he thought to himself.

" _Of course. My bad_." Came the mocking tone of Aziraphale. God, that made the redhead want to swat him but alas, he hand was pinned down. Then again… Silver linings.

The pair continued on with this back and forth banter for about an hour and a half, right until the line work was finally done - it only took so long due to the details and angles he had to work with. It looked amazing just as it was but shading was necessary with this piece, even if it was minimal.

"Right, all done for now…" Announced the artist as he pulled back away from Crowly, setting his handheld machine to the side so he could labourly pull his latex gloves off. "We can do the shading in an hour or two? Quite frankly I want some lunch."

Crowley sat upright, admiring the new work on his arm, surprised at the lack of bleeding so far. "Great minds think alike," he murmured before a lightbulb went off in his mind. "Wait, let me treat you for lunch. Consider it a tip."

Now. As stated earlier, Aziraphale struggles with the whole professional lifestyle and personal lifestyle predicament. He knew he should have said 'no' but the again, it would be rude to refuse a 'tip' as Crowley so kindly put it. Plus, Aziraphale _wanted_ to have lunch and if he could avoid paying for it, all the better. Perhaps it didn't help that the man who had put this offer forward was devilishly gorgeous.

"... Alright. Where do you plan on taking me?"

"The ritz?"

Aziraphale only scoffed.

"Wow. How dare you _assume_ I was joking-" The man grinned, shaking his head: "you're right though, I definitely can't afford that. I _can_ , however, afford lunch at that Sushi bar in town."

Clapping his hands together, the blond joined him in grinning: "sounds splendid!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Mm, scrumptious!" Mused Aziraphale, licking his lips after his last bite of food. He had noticed that Crowley hadn't eaten much but he didn't dare bring that up - that would be just a little bit awkward. Though, saying that, Crowley had been staring lovingly(?) towards the tattoo artist as he ate. Wouldn't that be considered awkward as well?

"Agreed." Crowley muttered, though he wasn't necessarily talking about the food given his lack of eating it. Aziraphale was oblivious to this hidden meaning though, at least he acted as if he was.

"Do you usually do this?" He asked: "you know, taking people out for lunch who you've only just met?"

Crowley only shook his head.

"Hm. How lucky am I then!" The blonde grinned to himself, swiping a handkerchief from his pocket to dab lightly at the corners of his mouth. "Tell me more about yourself though… Why snakes, for example?"

"Heh, it's a long story, you wouldn't want to hear it," waving his hand around, Crowley tried to dismiss the subject.

"I would."

"No, no… A waste of time."

"I assure you, it wouldn't be… But if you'd rather not, that's fine by me." Despite being left without an answer, Aziraphale was still smiling softly, eyes glittering under the restaurant lights. A man had never looked so inviting in Crowley's opinion. Even the way he sat there with his hands resting either side of his empty plate… So precise and perfect.

"Perhaps some other time…" The taller of the two hesitated at first but bucked up the courage to reach over and gently pat the other one's hand, a gesture to show that he meant what he said.

The artist's eyes grew wide: "oh-? So there will be another time?" He couldn't help but glance down at their hands, a hitch in his breath. Aziraphale had been on dates before, of course he had, but they never usually came out of the blue like this had.

“Of course, Angel.” Slipping in that pet name again made Crowley go with the decision of pulling his hand away - he didn’t want to push it too hard. Not yet.

The two were left blushing, eyes darting away from one another. Strategically, Aziraphale had chosen to look off in the direction of a clock, the perfect excuse to state the urgency to get back to the parlour in time to finish the tattoo. As he suggested this, Crowley conveniently got money out to pay for their bill, covering the entire cost. It was his form of a tip, after all.

  


Once back at the studio, they narrowly escaped the onslaught of questioning from the other partners of the business, slipping past them to get into the private room and shut the door behind them.

“I feel like I’m back at school again,” laughed Crowley. “All of this sneaking around, locking ourselves away…”

“I never did such things at school, I’m afraid.” Whether it was on purpose or he genuinely didn’t know, Aziraphale once again was acting oblivious to what the other man was hinting at.

“You sure? I bet you were absolutely _adorable_ as a teenager. I would have dragged you into a closet any da-”

“Sit down, you fiend.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order from the tattooist who was pointing at the chair behind Crowley. “You’re right though, I _was_ adorable,” he added as his client reluctantly backed off, slouching back into the seat.

The rest of the tattoo went on without a hitch, Aziraphale occasionally taking a break to roll his head from side to side to get his neck to click - he seemed to have it constantly cocked to the right when he was using the needle, his tongue poking out his lips in deep concentration. It was a knock at the door which caught the blonde off guard, pulling away abruptly to say: “come in,” as calmly as he could despite his heart rate racing a little. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he just wasn’t expecting any interruptions, that was all.

It was Gabriel who opened the door, the rest of his colleagues stood behind him, some busy on their phones, others zipping up their jackets. “We’re gonna head home early - no bookings and I doubt there’ll be any more walk-ins today. You can lock up.” Without warning, he chucked the bundle of keys across the room, not realising Aziraphale’s hands were full at the time. Thankfully, Crowley sat bolt upright and thrust his hand out just in time for him to catch them before they would have hit the artist in the face.

“Jesus!” “Fucking hell!” Both of these phrases were blurted out at the same time, easy guessing who said what.

“See ya tomorrow, A.Z.” With a wink, Gabriel closed the door again, everyone heading out of the studio with quick succession.

“Huh… Thanks for that save,” mumbled Aziraphale once they were alone again, gently taking the keys from his hand. 

“Couldn’t have that face of yours getting hurt, could I?”

“Hold that thought.” Placing the keys on the table behind him, Aziraphale pushed Crowley back to sit comfortably again, lifting his arm onto the rest once more so he could get back to the tattoo. He was _almost_ done.

Every now and then Crowley would wince in pain, the needle going over a particularly bony or sensitive area. Soon enough it was complete, however, Aziraphale tending to what was essentially an open wound. He cleaned it up, lathering the tattoo with healing cream as Crowley sat and watched, lifting his arm up whenever the other man indicated that was what he required. Nothing had been said since the blonde asked him to hold that thought and the silence was beginning to get a little tense.

Professionalism at all costs. That’s what Aziraphale told himself as he pulled his gloves off, not taking his eyes off his client. Some rules could be… Bent though, right? Not broken. Just… Altered with a tad bit.

“Up…” He simply mumbled, gesturing with his finger as he too scooted a little nearer on his stool to where Crowley was sat. He waited until the man had just leant forward to swoop in and kiss him, eyes closed, his hand on the armrest of the seat to steady himself. It took the redhead by surprise, though that wasn’t to say it was unpleasant. In fact, the fool had been daydreaming silently to himself of such fantasies for the last few hours. His own hand reached for Aziraphale’s shoulder, squeezing there slightly as he returned the kiss. It could neither be described as a sweet kiss or a rushed one - it was a mix of both really. Like two lovesick teenagers: horny beyond belief yet also believing this could be _the one_.

“We’ve got the place to ourselves, Crowley…” Aziraphale reminded him as he pulled back slightly, lips tingling at the sudden lack of contact.

“Do you usually do this…?” Drawled Crowley, eyes half lidded as he repeated a similar question to what Aziraphale had asked earlier. “You know…” He carried on, slipping a finger under the man’s suspender strap: “kissing your clients?”

“Only if they’re as pretty as you, dear,” confirmed the man he called ‘angel’. “Which is never up until this point.” He smiled sheepishly, subconsciously keeping his eyes fixated on Crowley’s lips. Wordlessly, they both went in to kiss again, this time everything making much more sense. 


End file.
